


The Lies We Tell Ourselves

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 13:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21100394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: No sleep, no food but plenty of anxiety catch up with Malcolm.





	The Lies We Tell Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schweinsty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/gifts).

> **Disclaimer** \- As always, I don’t own them
> 
> **Author’s Note** – This was written for schweinsty at comment_fic for the prompt: Prodigal Son, Malcolm Bright + Gil Arroyo, Fainting. Also for whumptober 2019 for the prompt unconscious

XXX

Another sleepless night, nothing he couldn’t handle. He didn’t expect to be outside Gil’s place before the sun peeped over the horizon but here he was, the things he owed his mentor racing through his head. That wasn’t what had kept him from sleeping. Hell, he couldn’t even blame it entirely on his father – but Dr. Whitly always had something to do with it, even as he sarcastically mocked Malcolm for it. 

After watching his mother’s police interview tape, something inside him crumbled. She hadn’t known. Why then had she featured in his dreams? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Stupid question, of course it was. Malcolm was close to decompensating, but he ignored how he lied to everyone about it. Maybe he had simply heard his parents arguing about the affair his mother thought her husband was having and he extrapolated the rest.

It was certainly plausible, though Malcolm refused to doubt that he had been drugged by his father. That part of his nightmares was true. He almost needed it to be true in such a deep fundamental way he didn’t dare turn his profiler’s eye to the reasons why.

After he’d returned home from the woman’s shelter, he hadn’t been able to go to sleep. Truthfully, Malcolm hadn’t tried. His sliced hand shook and throbbed. He was wary of taking even an aspirin for it. He already pounded handfuls of pills his liver and kidneys had to deal with. Malcolm decided he could handle the pain on his own. Of course, at night, pain felt magnified with nothing to distract his mind from it.

He couldn’t bear the thought of crawling into bed after a day like today. The fear that his mother had known what his father was doing haunted him even though the video had banished it briefly from his brain. She might not have known but their fight about it echoed in his brain. He’d apologized but his mother was right; they were miserable. 

If he went to bed, he’d have to cuff himself up. His hand already hurt. He didn’t need his wrists to do so too. He was so formal in his dress not just out of professionalism but because the long sleeves hid his bruises. His head hurt because he had cried watching the tape. He had cried when he came home after apologizing to his mother. Malcolm had simply been overwhelmed. So, sinuses stuffed and aching made him avoid the idea of sleep, of putting that damn bite guard in his mouth. The thing always had a foul plastic taste to it and his tongue couldn’t quit playing with it when he wore it. He had bitten through one or two in his time and they inevitably made his teeth twinge a bit and his jaw would ache badly from clenching so hard.

So, he had eschewed sleep and watched aimlessly at the TV, registering very little of it. His mind raced, refusing to quiet. Was he an idiot for coming back here? No doubt seeing his father was insanely risky. Could he be doing damage his mind wouldn’t be able to recover from? Maybe his mother was right. Malcolm should walk away from this, but he knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his nature.

Finally, he had gone to Gil’s to return the tape so Arroyo could take it back before he got in trouble. Realizing it wouldn’t be wise to wake him up before dawn, he waited. Early morning streets were spooky. At seven, he knocked on Gil’s door. His mentor eyed him suspiciously probably thanks to the early hour. He’d always been welcomed in Gil’s home. Malcolm still mourned the loss of Gil’s wife.

“Bright, what are you doing here so bright and early, pun intended.”

Malcolm surrendered the tape. “Thank you. I got what….” 

The room swam before his eyes, then crumpled in on itself, fading into the darkness. When the light returned, he was lying on the couch, utterly disoriented.

“There you are. I thought I was going to have to call for an ambulance,” Gil said, and Malcolm shook his head. The room whirled again but he didn’t pass out a second time. “Did you sleep at all?” 

Malcolm gave him another head shake. Gil sighed. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I…yeah I don’t know.”

“What is going on with you, Malcolm?” Gil asked, his voice soft as he abandoned Malcolm, walking into another rom.

Malcolm dared to sit up, holding his head in his hands. “It hit harder than I expected it to. Maybe I should have listened to you, but I needed to see it for myself.”

“I suspected that as much as I didn’t want you to see it,” Gil called from the kitchen.

Malcolm grunted, rubbing his forehead. His very brain seemed to throb like a heartbeat. A few minutes later Gil came back with a large glass of orange juice and a PopTart on a plate. He eyed the offering dubiously. “You actually eat those things?”

“You need the sugar,” Gil insisted. “And never you mind my dietary indiscretions.”

Malcolm snorted but took a large bite of the hot, cheap toaster pastry: Brown Sugar Cinnamon. They had been his favorite as a kid though his mother didn’t like him to have something so sugary. They were so sweet they made the orange juice seem bitter by comparison. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “For everything.”

Gil gave him a perfunctory nod. “You’re welcome. Are you all right, honestly?”

“I’m fine.”

The tightening of Gil’s jaw told Malcolm that he was aware of the lie, but Gil let it be. “Ready to go to work?”

“Wait? No telling me to go home and to bed?” Malcolm smirked.

Gil snorted. “If I thought it would work I would. Finish all your sugar. I’ll get you some protein on our way in. If you pass out in the office, JT will never let you live in down.”

He saluted Gil with the orange juice. “That I believe.”

He finished the breakfast, wondering if he should keep lying to Gil or if Gil should let him get away with it but that was a worry for another day. Today he would keep on lying to everyone and hoping he could continue to pull it off. Maybe he wasn’t headed for a break down. Maybe that was just another lie.


End file.
